‘I may at least be grateful to you,’ Maria said.
‘My share has been small. I must leave you now, for there is some one waiting to confess.’
He left the chapel, but Maria remained a few moments longer. When she was sure that no one could see her she slipped the sealed envelope inside her frock, for she did not like to trust it to the little bag in which she carried her cards, her handkerchief, and her money. She had almost forgotten Giuliana till she met her standing by the door, and saw the look of surprise and reproach in her eyes.
They went down the steps side by side in silence, and neither spoke till the carriage was moving again.
‘I really think you might choose some other place in which to meet,’ said Giuliana at last.
Maria had expected something of the sort from her impeccable friend.
‘We met by accident, and we did not speak,’ she answered quietly, for she knew that appearances were against her.
‘I did not know that he ever entered a church,’ returned Giuliana, who was well acquainted with Castiglione’s opinions in matters of religion.
‘Very rarely—at least, when I knew him.’
Maria was not inclined to say more, and Giuliana thought the explanation anything but sufficient. Maria had always been very truthful, but when unassailable virtue is suspicious it always goes to extremes, and tells us that the devil is everywhere, whereas, since he is usually described as an individual, and by no means as divine, it is hard to see how he can be in two places at once. Maria was aware of her friend’s state of mind, but was too much occupied with her own thoughts to pay any more attention to it after having told the truth. The sealed envelope that came from Castiglione’s hand lay inside her frock, upon her neck, somewhat to the left, and it was burning her and sending furious little thrills through her; yet it would have to lie there at least another hour while she made visits with Giuliana.